


We Started the Fire

by crucifics



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, da2 centric though, there are characters from all the games sooo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M, Trans Anders (Dragon Age), ftm anders, his bros are in it, porn will probably come into this????, rating to go up, yeah garrett made a rock band
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-03-30 09:43:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3932125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crucifics/pseuds/crucifics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrett Hawke is the lead singer of his band. The only problem?<br/>He can't sing.<br/>The band goes on a mission to find the perfect vocalist, and discovers him in the form of a short, broody drunk with a lot of baggage. The only problem?<br/>He won't join.</p><p>In which the Circle, Templars, and Tevinter Imperium are music labels, each vying for control of Kirkwall's bands, bands that are powerless to resist. Much to a certain blond's displeasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bait and Switch

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for trashy modern aus, and I feel like the majority of the da fandom would agree with me.  
> this is a little light on plot at the moment, but I intend to change that as I write more!

                “Ohhh my god, we are going to suck.” Anders skittered his fingers up and down the neck of his bass, making a rather unpleasant, discordant sound. He always did that when he was nervous.

                Garrett snorted. “Please, we’ll be fine. We sounded great in practice.”

                “Did we?” he snapped. His eyes had taken on that crazed, cornered cat look. “Because I think you sounded like a dog getting hit by an armored truck.”

                Isabela rolled her eyes. “No need to freak out, Anders. Besides, it was more like a bear sound, not a dog.”

                “Thanks, Isabela,” Garrett muttered.

                Merrill, ever the optimist, clapped her hands. “Come on you guys, cheer up! I hear bears are pretty popular nowadays. Especially in the gay community.” She winked at Garrett.

                He threw his hands up and sat down on a stool, nearly breaking it with the weight of his huge muscles. “Okay, okay! I get it! I’m a shitty vocalist!”

                They were backstage at the Bone Pit. The Grey Wardens were performing one of their more popular songs, “Kiss From Alistair’s Rose,” and they could hear the crowd’s enthusiastic cheering from the dressing room.

                Anders knocked his head against the wall, perhaps a little more forcefully than he had meant to. “I wish Varric was here. He would know what to do.”

                “I’m flattered, Blondie. But you might have too much faith in me.”

                His head shot up. “Varric?”

                From across the room, Isabela squealed. She jumped out from behind her drum set and practically flew at him. Varric barely had time to flinch before she was on him, wrapping her arms around him. “You’re back!” she cried.

                “Careful, Rivaini, you’ll smother me with your endowments,” he joked, laughing.

                “There are worse ways to go,” she said, and shrugged.

                Garrett pushed her aside, taking Varric’s hand in one of his monstrously large ones and shaking it enthusiastically. “Good to see you, buddy. How was the slammer?”

                Varric rubbed his forehead. “Really, Hawke? I’m out of prison for the first time in two months and that’s all you have to say?”

                Varric, on top of being their manager, was also a part time con artist. He sold Red Lyrium, a ‘miracle drug’ that was supposed to make one ‘harder than a diamond in a snowstorm.’ It was actually just crystals of red rock candy, but the public believes what the public wants to believe. He was caught and tried for fraud. Though Varric had had more than a few…dealings…with the judge, and when he threatened to reveal that, the judge agreed to give him parole after two months.

                “Hey, I’m curious! A small guy like you, you must have been the piece de resistance in every escape plan concocted.”

                “Yeah, well, I don’t wanna talk about it right now. And _don’t_ ask about the cafeteria job. Lasagna has lost all its appeal to me.” At their confused looks, he rolled his eyes. “Whatever, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you four have a show in ten minutes and for some reason, Blondie decided to write a song with notes that even Andraste herself couldn’t hit.”

                “Andraste could hit them,” Anders muttered defensively, poking his head out from behind Merrill.

                “Maybe so, but last I checked Hawke isn’t a legendary rock star. So, I had a…shall we say, ‘chat’ with the proprietor of this fine establishment, and he’s agreed to let us use auto tune, even though it’s against the rules of the house.”

                Anders groaned. “Autotune? Seriously? Do we look like Carver’s rap group?”

                “Do you want me to answer that?”

                Garrett rubbed his beard thoughtfully, ignoring them. “Will it go with our sound? I’m not sure indie rock and auto tune really mix.”

                “Have a little faith, Gare. I’m doing the best I can. I got out of jail an hour ago, and the first thing I did was come here to save your asses. I could be at home polishing Bianca and sipping on a glass of fine brandy.”

                Garrett put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Fair enough. As long as we don’t ruin the whole show, I don’t care. Right, Anders?” He turned to the scowling blond.

                “Fine. But we need a new vocalist after this. Someone who can hit any note I write.”

                “Yeah, yeah, once this is done.” Garrett clapped his hands. “So it’s all set up? We just have to go out there?”

                Varric smiled proudly. “You bet. Just sing your lines, and everything will be taken care of.”

                Dimly, they could hear the Grey Wardens finishing up. The audience applauded loudly, more than a few screaming their undying love for ‘The Warden,’ as he liked to call himself. No one knew his real name.

                Merrill looked a little paler than usual. “That’s us, then.”

                Isabela gave her a sound clap on the back. “We’ll be fine, sweetheart. Just play your keyboard and trust in Varric.”

                Garrett shouldered his guitar. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

 

                “Well, they didn’t _hate_ you,” Varric said, shrugging.

                The show had cleared out after they finished, and now only a few patrons remained, passed out in various booths. They were the only ones still conscious, except for the bartender wiping spilled vodka off the floor.

                Garrett pressed a cool glass of whiskey and soda against his head. His third glass, to be precise. “Very reassuring, Varric. You should go into therapy.”

                Anders had kicked his feet up on the table. His bass sat in his lap, and he plucked at the strings. He never loaded it up in the van. Didn’t trust the driver. “We really need a new vocalist,” he grumbled.

                Isabela swirled her glass of rum and coke. “I have to agree with Ser Pouts a Lot over here. I love you, Garrett, but your vocals are…lacking. We could do with some new talent.”

                Garrett grumbled something under his breath.

                “Speak up, Gary.”

                “I said, fine. But I get to pick who it is.”

                Anders’s fingers slipped on the strings. “What? Why? _I_ write the songs, shouldn’t I decide who sings them?”

                Merrill picked up a straw wrapper, folding it into a tiny bow. “Garrett _is_ the one who formed the band,” she added quietly.

                Anders gave her a venomous look.

                The Hawke family was old money. Old, _old,_ money. As such, the Hawke children didn’t really have to worry about employment. Bethany spent her time learning the flute and was currently on tour with the Kirkwall Symphony Orchestra. Carver became a solo rap artist, with a surprising amount of success. Garrett…dabbled. First, he tried to learn tennis. After the exploding ball incident, he moved from sports to pottery, but sculpting a dragon is harder than it looks, and he quickly gave up. So, what is a wealthy, bored, impulsive thirty year old to do? Well, start a band, of course.

                “Thank you, Merrill,” Garrett said, nodding at her. “She’s right. I also feel like I should get a say in who’s replacing me.” He finished his drink and set the cup down. “Any ideas where to look, Varric?”

                As their manager, it was Varric’s job to keep an eye out for venues they could play at. If he happened to find a talented artist at one of those venues, well, then that’s where the recruitment would come in.

                “There’s a showcasing for some lesser known artists at the Hanged Man in a week. We might find someone there.”

                Isabela sighed wistfully, staring at the far wall. “Ah, the Hanged Man. That was our first venue. Back when we were ‘Garrett and the Gays,’ instead of ‘Suck My Hawke.’”

                Anders snorted. “We sure do have a penchant for picking creative names.”

                Varric tapped his fingers on his bottle of beer. “Unfortunately ‘Garrett and the Gays’ was a little _too_ weird for the Circle. Impressive, considering they also signed ‘Krem On My Face.’ _That’s_ a ragtag band if I’ve ever seen one. The drummer is basically a bull.” He took a sip. “He makes Hawke look like a kitten.”

                Anders smiled. “Kittens.”

                “Yes, Blondie,” Varric said patiently, as if speaking to a child. “As for a new vocalist, I’ll have to talk to Orsino. We shouldn’t make any huge changes to the band without checking in first.”

                Orsino was the man in charge of their label, the Circle. The Circle was known for its laxness with artists. As long as their music wasn’t utter crap, a Circle band could sing whatever they wanted, dress however they wanted, and play wherever they wanted. The contracts were loose. It was a nice label, especially for part time indie artists.

                Isabela leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “He won’t care. We could make Gary’s dog the new vocalist and I doubt he would blink an eye.”

                “Yeah, because that would be an improvement,” Anders muttered, scratching the stubble under his jaw.

                Garrett glared. “Aren’t you the one who said I sounded like a dog in the first place?”

                “I thought we agreed on bear,” Merrill chimed in.

                He stood up, nearly knocking his chair over. “Alright, that’s cool. You guys are the worst, and I am officially leaving.” He grabbed his leather jacket off the floor and shrugged it on. “Varric, text me about the showing next week. I’ll see you losers there.” He grabbed his motorcycle keys and started walking towards the exit.

                “Ah, come on, Gary!” Isabela called after him. “Can I at least get a ride home with you?”

                “Fine, but only if you stop complaining about my driving skills,” he yelled back, not even bothering to look over his shoulder.

                She grabbed her trench coat and hurried after him. “Stop driving on the sidewalk, then!” She turned and blew them a kiss before disappearing out the door. “Bye, my lovelies!”

                Varric raised an eyebrow at the two remaining band members. “A bear? Really?” His tone was disapproving.

                Anders opened his mouth to defend himself, when Varric cut him off.

                “I would have said a wounded hyena.”

                They were still chuckling when the bartender kicked them out.

 

                “Garrett, give me your notebook.” Isabela reached across the table, her hands making grabby motions at the air.

                “What, so you can draw dicks all over it again? I’m taking _notes,_ Isabela. Adult-y notes. Your juvenile whims will not distract me.” He went back to drawing the scales on his dragon doodle.

                She groaned. “I’m _booored_. I haven’t vibed with any of these singers.”

                “Patience, Rivaini. We still haven’t seen everyone.” Varric looked at her over his reading glasses. He was also taking notes, perhaps more dutifully than Garrett, even though the latter had insisted on making the final decision.

                Thus far they had seen a Scottish man singing about Jesus (Varric called him a ‘choir boy’), an elderly woman with absurd hair crooning about some sort of locket, and some jazz group that called themselves the Advisors. Anders recognized one of their members.

                “He used to be signed with the Templar Order,” he said in a low voice, tinged with obvious disgust. “That label is a real piece of work. I’m surprised he got out.”

                Merrill had shushed him.

                There were only a couple performances left. The next piece was a father son duet, sung by The Dumar Duo. They harmonized quite nicely.

                Varric leaned over to Garrett. “What about the kid? He has a nice voice.”

                Garrett gnawed on the end of his pencil. “Maybe…He’s not bad, but…I’m not feeling it.”

                “There’s only one more performer, Hawke. We’ll have to pick someone,” Isabela remarked.

                Varric shrugged. “There will be more shows. It’s just a matter of if we want to wait that long.”

                The duo finished their song, and there was a smattering of applause throughout the bar.

                The announcer, a tall man with long, dark hair and a hooked nose, took the mic. “Thank you all so much for coming out here,” he said in a bored tone. “Our last performer has chosen to remain anonymous. Please, enjoy.” He stepped down.

                Isabela looked intrigued. “Anonymous? Juicy.”

                Garrett sat up a little straighter.

                From stage left, a man entered, carrying a cello that was comically large compared to his tiny frame. He had nut brown skin and a shock of white hair that hung into his eyes. He wore a deep green turtleneck, one that hugged his frame, showing off lean muscles.

                Garrett swallowed, feeling his throat go dry.

                The man sat down, positioning the cello between his legs in a way that was altogether too suggestive. He adjusted the mic, scooting it closer, and cleared his throat. “Uh, hello, everyone. I will be performing ‘I’m Not Calling You a Liar.’ Enjoy.”

                Garrett stared at him. _Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit. His fucking voice oh my god._

Merrill nudged him. “Hush!”

                Did he say that out loud?

                And then he started singing. His voice was as deep and rich as the cello thrumming beneath the bow. “ _I’m not calling you a liar, just don’t lie to me. I’m not calling you a thief, just don’t steal from me. And I’m not calling you a ghost, just stop haunting me. And I love you so much I’m gonna let you kill me.”_

                Everyone was enraptured. Even Anders looked impressed, though he was clearly trying to play it off.

                He closed his eyes when he sang, his body following the sway of the music, his hands working the cello to pull out notes that made Garrett’s arm hairs stand on end.

                “ _Oh, but for the grace of God go I, and when you kiss me, I’m happy enough…to die._ ” He worked the bow across the strings one final time, letting the sound fade to nothingness. He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

                There was a beat of silence, then everyone was on their feet, clapping and cheering.

                A tiny smile broke his calm mask, and Garrett felt his heart stop. The man waved awkwardly before picking up his cello and disappearing backstage.

                “We need him,” Garrett said, practically slamming his hands on the table.

                “ _I_ need him,” Isabela murmured, staring at the stage wistfully.

                “He was okay,” Anders mumbled, glaring at the table as if it had personally offended him.

                Varric slipped his glasses off and folded them, setting them on his notebook. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Look, Hawke, I understand why you’re so excited--”

                “Fuck yeah I’m excited! Did you hear him? His voice was like a bar of gold dripping with honey.”

                “Mm, I’d like to see _him_ dripping with honey.” It was clear that Isabela was only half listening to them.

                Varric snorted. “Yeah, I know, he’s really good. But I recognize that voice, and I think we’re better off leaving him to his own devices.”

                Garrett leaned in close, his voice taking a manic edge. “You know that guy? Who is he? Why do you say that?”

                “He’s anonymous because he ran away from his old label.”

                “You mean he terminated the contract?” Merrill asked.

                “No, he _ran away._ Didn’t quit. Probably couldn’t.” He looked around at their confused faces. “He was signed with Tevinter Imperium.”

                Garrett raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Wait. No, that doesn’t help. Which label is that?”

                Isabela gasped, pointing to the far end of the bar. “Look! There he is!”

                The runaway musician had pulled up a stool and was nursing an entire bottle of wine. Woah. A couple people came over to congratulate him on his performance, but he barely acknowledged them.

                Before Varric could say another two syllables (Hawke, wait!), Garrett was sitting beside him.

                The man looked up, clearly a little startled at the sudden appearance of a tall, muscular, bearded man.

                Garrett held out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Hawke. Garrett Hawke.”

                He looked at his hand warily, then back to Hawke’s face. “Hello.”

                He let his hand drop. “And you are…?”

                “Anonymous. Or did you miss that part?” He gave him a scathing look before taking a pull from the bottle.

                “Yes, well, I thought that might be a mysterious stage persona. You can’t even tell a good friend your name?”

                “Good friend? I just met you.” He scowled, and there was something very endearing about it.

                “Ah, but are we good friends, it just hasn’t happened yet.” He grinned easily.

                “And what makes you think that?” The man did seem a little curious, despite himself.

                “Well, we’ll get to know each other quite well at band practice.”

                “Band…practice?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

                “Yep! If you’re going to be the lead vocalist in our band, you’ll have to come to practice.”

                “I see.” His voice was flat. “And why would I join your band, exactly?”

                “Well, to be frank, you’re the best vocalist I’ve ever heard, and we could really use one right about now.” He turned and pointed to the table where the others were sitting. “That’s them. I know they just look like a bunch of losers, and they are,” he added. “But you’ll grow to love them, in time.”

                “You’re quite sure that I’m actually going to accept your offer,” he remarked.

                “Of course you are! Why wouldn’t you?”  
                “Maybe because I don’t want to?”

                Garrett pouted. “You’re awfully mean to your friends.”

                “No, I am not. I have no qualms being rude to _strangers_ , however. I’m already signed with a label, I have no interest in another.”

                “Ah, Tevinter Imperium, was it?”

                He tensed up, as if struck. “How did you know that?” he demanded.

                Garrett blinked, a little surprised at his reaction. “I…One of my friends said he recognized you. What’s the big deal?”

                He grabbed the wine bottle off the counter and threw a few bills in its place. “Don’t speak to anyone about this,” he practically growled. “Goodbye.” He stormed off, shoving through the crowd.

                “Hey, wait!” Garrett called after him, but he had already disappeared.

                Isabela whistled when he sulked back to the table. “Shot down,” she said, and laughed. “What could you possibly say to make him so angry?”

                He slumped into his chair. “I mentioned Tevinter Imperium, and he got all pissy.” He put his chin in his hands and scowled at Varric. “Why didn’t you tell me that would make him mad?”

                Varric scoffed. “Like I could have known that. I don’t know the guy personally, only that he ran away from a contract with Tevinter Imperium, and his stage name was Wolfsbane. Though I suppose he’s really more of a Lone Wolf, now.”

                “Wolfsbane?” Garrett perked up at this new information. “Hm…I’m gonna look him up.”

                Anders rolled his eyes. “Don’t wear yourself out. We’ll need your right hand for band practice.”

                Isabela guffawed. “Good one, Anders! I didn’t know you had it in you.”

                Merrill looked confused. “I don’t get it.”

                “And let’s hope it stays that way, Daisy.”  
                Garrett ignored them, too preoccupied with his thoughts. He grabbed his keys and notepad and stood, pushing his chair in. “I’m out, assholes,” he said mechanically, already on his phone, no doubt doing a Google search. “Catch you at practice tomorrow.” He started walking away.

                “I expect all the details about this mysterious stranger tomorrow!” Isabela called. “Do your homework!”

                He gave her a half-hearted wave over his shoulder.

                “I doubt he even heard you,” Anders muttered.

                “I doubt it matters,” she countered. “He’ll be up until the wee hours of the morning researching that guy.”

                Varric rubbed his face tiredly. “I wish he knew when to quit. I don’t see this working out well for anyone.”

                “Oh, have a little faith,” she said, giving him a playful push on the shoulder. “He’s _Garrett Hawke._ When has he ever messed something up?”

                This time, not even getting kicked out quelled their laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!! I hope you liked it!  
> comment and kudos are appreciated! <3
> 
> shoutout to [this loser](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sniper_wolf/pseuds/sniper_wolf) for being my beta. check out his stuff!
> 
> if you need another dose of garbage, here's [my blog](http://dany-plz.tumblr.com).  
> have a lovely day!


	2. Wayward Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett continues to pine after his mysterious singer, unaware that his twin sister, Marian, is coming home from her kickboxing tour. Antics ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one took a while to come out!! it's summer, so hopefully my updates will be more frequent. I had a lot of fun with this one. enjoy!!

“Garrett, darling, could you put your phone down and come help me put groceries away?”

  
Garrett groaned, dropping his phone on the couch cushion beside him. He had been sitting there for the last three hours looking at pictures of Wolfsbane at various concerts. “I _guess…_ ” he grumbled, heaving his massive frame into a standing position. He was a grown-ass man. Groceries were beneath him. But, for all his talk, he was still a mama’s boy, and if Leandra asked, Garrett performed. “Where’s Orana?” he yawned, stepping into the designer kitchen. She was their housemaid.

  
Leandra pulled out some vegetables and pushed them at her son. “She’s getting coffee with a friend. I gave her the day off.”

  
“I thought she wanted to see us practice? See _Merrill_ practice?” Orana had always had a bit of a crush on Merrill. It was adorable, really. He opened the fridge and set the vegetables down in the top drawer.

  
“Well, she asked if she could come in late because she was seeing a friend, and I just told her to take the day off.” Leandra paused. “The week off, actually.” She unloaded a bag of chips.

  
“The entire week? But why…” A sudden, terrible realization dawned on him. “Wait, you don’t mean to suggest…you’re not…”

  
Leandra looked apologetic as she pulled a package of tofu out of the bag.

  
The tofu might as well have been a death sentence. “Oh, no…”

  
“That’s right, little brother,” a familiar voice said from behind him. “I’m paying a visit.”

  
Marian.

  
He whipped around and glowered at her. “What are you doing here? Why am I just hearing about this?” he demanded, turning to face his mother.

  
Leandra ignored him, running around the kitchen island to hug her eldest daughter. “Marian, you’re here early! I wasn’t expecting you until tonight!”

  
Marian kissed the top of her head. “The last fight in my tour was cancelled, so I caught an earlier flight. I got here as soon as I could, mother.” She shot Garrett a shit-eating grin.

  
Garrett and Marian hadn’t always been rivals. When they were younger, the two were closer than they had been in the womb. Though they fought over everything, they were equally matched, and the balance of power rarely stayed in one’s favor.

  
That is, until Marian decided to become a kickboxer.

  
Then, things changed. Garrett lost every competition. Every. One. He never sat shotgun again. He always had to take the trash out to the street. One time she kicked one of his teeth out over an argument about whether cats or dogs were better (dogs, obviously. Though Marian would say otherwise).

  
Garrett’s wounded pride made him forever bitter, and Marian’s constant victories made her forever smug.

  
“Ugh. Now, not only are you here, but we’re going to have to eat _tofu_ of all things, and the house is gonna be a mess.” He folded his arms across his chest.

  
She shrugged, stepping past him to the fridge. She pulled out a carrot and bit down on it. “Sorry, Shorty, but you’re going to have to take a break from your carnivorous ways.” She closed the door and leaned against it. “And if you’re incapable, as an adult man, of cleaning up after yourself, then you don’t deserve a slave.”

  
Marian was against Orana working for them. Even though they paid Orana a fair wage, Marian still insisted it was basically slave labor. So whenever Marian visited, Orana would get to take a vacation. Paid, of course.

  
“Oh my god, she’s not a fucking _slave_ , Marian, and would you _please_ stop calling me Shorty? I’m taller than you now!”

  
She snorted. “Yeah, it’s not like you’re compensating for anything.”

  
“Okay, that doesn’t even make sen--”

  
“Hello?” A voice called out from the entryway. They heard the front door close. “Gary? Sorry I’m early, my manager caught me watching porn on break and sent me home. Your motorcycle is in the garage, are you here?”

  
Marian grinned, stepping into the hallway. “Isabela, I haven’t seen you in ages!”

  
Garrett followed her reluctantly, the picture of a sulking child.

  
Isabela gasped, dropping her purse on the ground and flinging herself down the hallway at Marian. “Mary!” she cried.

  
If Marian weren’t capable of fighting men twice her size, the impact probably would have knocked her back five feet. As it was, she took it like a champ, stopping Isabela’s momentum and even picking her up by the hips and swinging her in a circle.

  
Garrett rolled his eyes. He could do that too, if he wanted to.

  
She set Isabela down and beamed at her. “How are you, Bella?”

  
“Wonderful, now that you’re here! Gary, you never told me Mary was coming!” She turned to him, her tone accusatory.

  
He glared. “That’s because I had no idea. She just shows up with no warning. Like a bad case of head lice.”

  
Marian shot him a dirty look over her shoulder. “Love you too, little brother.”

  
The door cracked open, and they all turned to look.

  
A blond head popped in. “Darling? Are you here yet?”

  
It was Marian’s turn to lose it. She pushed Isabela aside and sprinted down the hall, grinning from ear to ear. “Anders!”

  
Anders wasn’t nearly as solid as Marian, so when they collided, they both went down in a tangle of limbs.

  
Garrett made a face. “I can hear you two kissing from here!”

  
Marian flipped him off, never breaking her lips from Anders’s. They hadn’t bothered to get up off the floor.

  
Isabela sighed. “They’re so cute.”

  
“I guess. If you like watching a weasel and a rat make out.”

  
She pouted at him. “You’re so mean, Gary. Are you still mad at her for knocking out your tooth and making you cry like a baby?”

  
“Yes!” he cried, exasperated. “Yes! I am! Is that so hard to believe? Just because she couldn’t admit that dogs are better than cats!”

  
Marian pulled away from Anders, resting her weight on her hands. “Do you want me to come over there and knock another tooth out? Cats are superior.”

  
Anders reached up and stroked her hair. “That’s my girl.”

  
She smiled and started kissing him again.

  
Garrett actually gagged. “Oh my god, I can’t do this anymore.” He grabbed Isabela and pulled her into the kitchen, away from the spectacle.

  
Leandra was still in the kitchen, calmly assembling some mini cucumber sandwiches as if nothing had happened. “I’m making snacks for your practice today,” she said, spreading cream cheese on a tiny wedge of bread.

  
Garrett reached over her shoulder and grabbed a fistful of them, stuffing them into his mouth. “Mm, ish guh,” he mumbled, not even bothering to finish chewing first.

  
She gave him a disapproving look. “Those are for _everyone_ , Garrett.”

  
He shrugged helplessly.

  
She glanced at the clock. “Where’s Merrill? Shouldn’t she be here by now?”

  
Anders stumbled into the kitchen like a drunk newlywed, his arm slung over Marian’s shoulders. “She’s going to be late. Wanted to grab some coffee at that Haven place.”

  
Garrett glared at him and swallowed his mouthful of sandwich angrily.

  
“What?” he demanded, meeting his eyes.

  
“You knew _she_ ,” he motioned at Marian, “was coming, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

  
Marian rolled her eyes. “Gare, we’ve been dating for five months. Of course I’m going to tell him when I come home.”

  
“Yeah, and we’ve been twins our whole lives! You don’t think I deserve to know?”

  
She snorted. “I don’t think you deserve anything. Especially not such a good group of friends.”

  
Garrett spluttered indignantly. “Are you hearing this? Do you see how she treats me?” he asked, turning to Isabela. “And you guys still like her?”

  
Isabela shrugged. “The heart wants what the heart wants, Gary.”

  
He dragged a hand over his face. “I hate you all.”

  
From down the hall came the sound of the front door opening. “Garrett?”

  
He perked up at the sound of his name. “Merrill!” He skidded into the hall. “Oh, Merrill, you have no idea how excited I am to see you,” he gasped.  
Of all of Garrett Hawke’s friends, Merrill disliked Marian the most. She would understand where he was coming from.

  
“You’ll never believe what--” he began.

  
Merrill kicked off her Birkenstocks and tiptoed over to him, holding her paper cup of coffee in a vice-like grip. “That can wait, Garrett,” she said, her voice an urgent whisper.

  
He paused. “What? What is it?” Merrill was never like this, unless it was serious. Oh god, who died?

  
“I stopped to get coffee on my way here, right? Sorry I’m late, by the way, the line was atrocious and the woman before me ordered off the ‘secret menu’ which I’ve heard doesn’t even exist, so the barista had to talk to the manager and then argue with the woman over what kind of syrup they actually had since apparently bubblegum flavor doesn’t exist, and--”

  
“ _Merrill_.” He grabbed her shoulders. She always did this when she was on edge. “What. Happened.”

  
“I saw Wolfsbane there!” she squeaked.

  
He gasped.

  
“With a girl!”

  
He gasped louder. “ _What?”_

  
She nodded quickly, her eyes wide.

  
“Who was she?” he demanded. “Was she prettier than me? Oh god, Merrill, was she a model?”

  
“No! I mean, I don’t know, I didn’t see her! She had her back to me!”

  
He started pacing back and forth, cracking his knuckles with his thumb. “Oh fuck, what if she’s his _wife?”_

  
“What seems to be the problem, Gare Bear?” Marian was standing in the entrance to the hall, her arms folded over her chest. Anders and Isabela were beside her.

  
“Nothing!” he snapped, hiding his hands behind his back. Cracking knuckles in the Hawke family was a sign of obvious distress. He glared daggers at Isabela and Anders, as if challenging them to say something.

  
They were silent.

  
“That doesn’t really seem like nothing,” she said, sauntering closer to him, like a cat cornering its prey. Stupid fucking cats. “I haven’t seen you this flustered since that Duncan guy passed through Lothering when we were younger.”

  
Merrill gasped, completely sidetracked. “You mean the manager of the Grey Wardens? Did you meet him, Garrett?”

  
He ignored her, glaring at his sister. “I am _not_ flustered.”

  
“So who is it?” she countered, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  
Merrill scrunched up her face at Marian. “We never said he was a guy!”

  
“Ah, so it _is_ a guy!” She leered at them triumphantly.

  
Garrett closed his eyes. “Good one, Merrill.”

  
She blushed, staring at her feet. “Oops.”

  
“Ugh, whatever, let’s just start practice, okay?” He grabbed Merrill by the arm and pulled her down the hallway to the salon where their equipment was set up, pushing roughly past Marian.

  
She gave him a wicked grin. “If you think I’m going to let this go, you’re wrong.”

  
“Yeah, yeah, go eat some tofu or something, you…vegetarian,” he grumbled.

  
“Maybe I will, after I recover from that sick burn.” She kissed Anders on the cheek and disappeared into the kitchen.

  
Garrett glared at Anders as they got set up. “I can’t believe you’re dating her,” he muttered, putting his guitar strap over his shoulder.

  
Anders strummed his bass a couple times, getting it tuned up. “I can’t believe it either, but I’m not complaining.”

  
Merrill put a hand to her heart. “Anders! That is so precious!”

  
Garrett mimed vomiting.

  
Isabela hit her cymbal, sending a ringing sound throughout the room. “Your banter is all very nice, but I have some movies to pirate. What say we get this show on the road?”

  
Garrett nodded. “Right.” There would be time to complain later. “As you all know, we have a show in three weeks at the Blooming Rose. If we can get a big enough following from that, we might get enough votes to score a spot in the Battle of the Bands at the Viscount’s Keep.”

  
“Ooh, the Battle of the Bands?” Merrill clapped her hands in excitement. “Could we really get in?”

  
“If we want to do well, we’re going to need someone else singing,” Anders pointed out.

  
“Yes, thank you, I am aware,” Garrett said through gritted teeth. “Which is why we need Wolfsbane. Personal attraction aside, he’s our best bet.”

  
“Yeah but he won’t join.”

  
“Thank you again, Anders, you’re so helpful,” he said, his hands tight on the neck of his guitar. He took a deep breath. “I want to seek him out and talk to him again.”

  
“And what makes you think you can say anything that will change his mind?” Isabela asked.

  
He offered her a lazy grin. “Please, Isabela. Did I not once talk you out of a night in jail by seducing that cop?”

  
“You didn’t exactly sweet talk him, though…You more pinned him against the wall and grabbed his crotch. You’re just lucky he was into it.”

  
“Okay, that wasn’t _luck_ , Isabela, I was able to read him and _know_ that he would be into it,” Garrett said defensively. “Regardless, I’m going to find Wolfsbane and talk to him.”

  
“And just how do you plan on finding him?” Anders asked.

  
“Well, I…A-ha!” Garrett clapped his hands together. “Merrill saw him at the Haven Coffeehouse, all I have to do is stay there until I see him again.”

  
“But I have no idea if he goes there regularly,” Merrill remarked.

  
“Well it’s the only option I have!” he snapped. “Unless you guys have any better ideas?”

  
They all looked at each other and shrugged.

  
“Good. It’s settled, then. I’ll find Wolfsbane and make him join. Then we’ll own our next show and move on to the Viscount’s Keep.”

  
Isabela sighed. “Glad that’s settled.” She cracked her neck. “Let’s get on with it, then!”

 

\--

 

Garrett downed his fifth cup of coffee and slammed the paper cup on the table. His hands were shaking. His teeth chattered. His foot was bouncing under the table, high top converse squeaking against the clean linoleum. He could hear colors.

  
A buzz from his phone made him jump, a high-pitched squeak of alarm escaping him. He glared down the people who had turned to look as he picked up his phone off the table. It was Merrill.

 **To:** me  
**From** : daisy chainz $$

 

_any luck finding your love??? <3<3_

 

His fingers typed out a response at super human speed.

 

 **To:** daisy chainz $$  
**From:** me

 

_no. fucking kill me. Ive been here for 4 hours_

 

She sent back a simple frowny face. He drummed his fingers on the table, earning more than a few annoyed looks from the other Haven Coffeehouse patrons. A frowny face didn’t even begin to cover it. Not only had he already spent twenty dollars on sugary coffee drinks, but he’d been sitting there all day trying to catch a glimpse of Wolfsbane.  
Wolfsbane. Just thinking about the name made his heart race (or maybe that was the caffeine). He hadn’t been able to get the man’s face out of his mind since that night, almost two weeks earlier. It was probably getting unhealthy, quite honestly. If he could just find him—

  
“Oh, hello, Garrett!”

  
He looked up. “Orana? What are you doing here?”

  
She sat down across from him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear that had fallen out of her bun. “I’m meeting my friend! He’s a bit late, but he always is. Probably a little hungover.” She laughed. “We’re going to meet here, then he wants to show me his work.”

  
“Hm, that’s nice,” he said absently, staring out the window. Wolfsbane could sneak up at any moment.

  
She continued, oblivious to his obvious distraction. “You might actually know him, Garrett! His name is Fenris, he’s also a musi--”

  
_I’m Not Calling You a Liar_ , as performed by Wolfsbane, started blaring from Garrett’s phone. He’d downloaded it the night of the show and set it as his ringtone.

  
“I guess you two must know each other, that’s his song!” she said excitedly.

  
He stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending. “Uh…yeah, right.” Garrett picked it up, looking at the caller ID. Ugh, Marian. “Excuse me, Orana, I should probably take this,” he said, grabbing his phone and standing. He was done waiting around for the day. He’d come back later.

  
“Oh, okay!” she said, and smiled sweetly. She checked her phone. “And it looks like Fenris is just down the block!”

  
“You two have fun,” he said blankly, offering her a wave. “See you around.” He swiped his finger across the screen and held the phone up to his ear, pushing out the door. “What do you want?” he growled.

  
Marian’s chuckle crackled over the speaker. “Is that really how you greet your favorite sister?”

  
“Bethany? I thought you were still on tour!”

  
She let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m hurt, little brother. Very hurt. So hurt, in fact, that I don’t think I’ll help you after all…”

  
He stopped on the street corner, gripping his phone tightly. “What do you mean?” he asked begrudgingly.

  
“Gosh, I don’t know if I can say anything…I feel like crying, and my throat is so tight I don’t think I can choke it out.”

  
“I swear to god, Marian, if you don’t tell me what you’re talking about I’ll--”

  
“What, hit me in the fist with your face? If you really want me to help, I’ll expect a little more courtesy.” He heard her voice grow quieter, he gathered she had turned away from the phone. “What? Too mean? You can talk to him, then.”

  
There was a rustling noise, as if the phone was being moved around. “What’s going on?” Garrett asked, tapping his foot against the concrete with growing impatience.

  
“Garrett?”

  
“Anders?”

  
“Yeah. Look, if you really want her help, you should just suck it up and be nice. I can guarantee you’ll want to hear what she has to say.”

  
Garrett crossed the street, frustration giving him long, purposeful strides. “God dammit, Anders, what are you going on about? Why do I need help from Marian? And why the fuck are you hanging out with her and not me? What the fuck, dude.”

  
He sighed. “You haven’t left the coffee shop since eleven o’ clock this morning. Believe it or not I have things I would rather be doing. Like Marian.”

  
“Ew.”

  
“Anyway, she knows things about Wolfsbane. Quite a few things, I’d say.”

  
There was a pause. “Put her on the phone. Now.”

  
There was the rustling again before he heard a smug, “Are you ready to cooperate?”

  
“What do you want, Marian?” he asked, sounding defeated.

  
“Only your gratitude, Gare Bear. That, and you have to wash my car for the next year.”

  
He sat down heavily on a bench by the river, shrouded in some shade. “Fine. Done. Now tell me what you know.”

  
“Well, Anders told me about your little thing for ‘Wolfsbane,’ and--”

  
“Traitor,” he growled.

  
“Look, do you want to insult my boyfriend, or do you want to hear what I have to say?”

  
“Fine, go on,” he muttered.

  
“As I was saying,” she said, sounding way more exasperated than she had a right to be. “It just so happens that I know ‘Wolfsbane.’ And that’s not his name. It’s Fenris.”

  
Fenris…Fenris…Why did that sound familiar? He shook his head, dismissing the thought. “How do you know him?” he demanded.

  
“I meet a lot of people on my tours. I stopped by a bar after a fight one night and he was there. We shared a bottle of wine and he told me about himself. Cool dude, you have good taste.”

  
“Did you…did you just compliment me?” he asked, jaw dropping open.

  
“Really? I tell you I personally know the ghost you’ve been pining after for two weeks and all you can remark on is the fact that I paid you a compliment?”

  
“You have to admit, Marian, that’s pretty remarkable.”

  
“Fair enough.”

  
He rubbed his cheek. “So, what can I do with this information? I know his name, you met him, is that really all? I have to clean your car for a year in exchange for a name?”

  
“Not just a name, Gare. He gave me his business card. And you know what’s on a business card?”

  
He gasped. “Cool typography! Is he into typography, Marian?”

  
“Oh my god, I can’t believe we’re related. A _phone number_ , you fucking imbecile. I have his phone number.”

  
He raised his eyes to the heavens and sent a quick prayer to the god of hook-ups. _Thank you_ , he mouthed. He turned back to the phone. “The digits? You have them? All ten? For me? I can have them? And I just have to clean your car?”

  
She laughed. “Yes, Garrett. All ten, just for you.”

  
He paused. “This isn’t a trick, right? You’re not fucking with me?”

  
“So little faith, Gare. I’m not tricking you. Though I reserve the right to ask for more from you if the mood strikes me.”

  
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, already formulating exactly what he would do with this new information. “Can you send it to me?”

  
She yawned. “Whatever. I’m going to sleep first, though, I’m a little worn out. You can thank Anders for that.”

  
“Oh my god, ew, ew ew ew, fucking ew, goodbye,” he said, shuddering. Garrett hung up the phone and practically threw it away from himself, on the other end of the bench.  
He put his head on his hand, staring at the sidewalk. This was wonderful news, of course, he could finally find Wolfs—Fenris, instead of just waiting around for him to show up. But there was still the matter of that name, and why it sounded so familiar…He’d heard it recently, he must have, otherwise why…

  
But who would have said it…he hadn’t talked to anyone recently, except…

  
Garrett bolted upright. “Fuck!” he yelled. He grabbed his phone and started sprinting down the sidewalk, back to the Haven Coffeehouse. He almost barreled into a short guy muttering about ‘enchantments,’ only avoiding him by jumping over him.

  
When he burst into the café, his heart sank. Orana and Fenris were nowhere to be seen. He was going to show her his work…And of course, Garrett had no idea where that was.

  
He sighed, unlocking his phone and stepping back outside, tapping on his most called number. “Isabela? Yeah, it’s Garrett. Look, are you busy? You’ll never believe what just happened to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!  
> thanks a bunch to [this nerd](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sniper_wolf/pseuds/sniper_wolf) for being my beta. go check out his work!  
> comments and kudos are very appreciated, but no pressure :^)
> 
> if you wanna get in touch with me, here's [my blog](http://dany-plz.tumblr.com). send me things!


	3. Shepherding Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela forces Garrett to face his fears and do the unspeakable: call Fenris.
> 
> Meanwhile, trouble brews as the Templar Order seeks to increase their power, and Suck My Hawke is caught in the crossfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha so I know I said this was going to be coming out more regularly but...I lied. I'm also heading off to college soon so updates will be even slower, I imagine :^( but I'll keep writing!! I love this fic a lot and it is terribly fun to write. please enjoy this latest installment!!

                “And he wasn’t there?”

                “No, he was gone! Maker, Isabela, I was minutes away from seeing him and I just walked out like a complete and utter ass. Orana practically offered him to me on a silver platter and I missed it.”

                She shook her head, turning back to her keyboard to type a few things in. “Bummer, Gary.”

                They were at Hawkebuster Movie Rentals, an old shop run by Garrett’s uncle, Gamlen. Garrett had insisted on the name. (He was the one who paid for the lease, after all). It was a pathetic establishment, with near empty shelves and three separate lightbulbs that had gone out months ago and never been replaced. The popcorn maker sat cold and lonely on the counter by the computer.

                Isabela had landed a job, with Marian’s help, earlier that year. Marian had threatened to kick Gamlen’s teeth in if he didn’t hire her (there was no mentioning what she would do if he fired her). Isabela didn’t care that the store was always empty; in fact, it was probably her fault. She ran one of the Internet’s most successful movie pirating websites, Pirate’s Port, and she developed and operated it all from the computer at the front desk of a movie rental store.

                Garrett would have felt bad, if Gamlen hadn’t lied to his mother about their inheritance for years. As it was, it felt like poetic justice.

                He propped his elbows on the counter, grabbing a piece of candy rope and tying a noose with it. “I _know…_ ” he whined. “I have his number, but I’m too scared to call him…”

                Isabela made a final few strokes on her keyboard before turning to face him again. “Gary, man the fuck up.”

                “But _Bella…_ ” He stuck his lower lip out and slipped the candy noose over his head.

                She stood and leaned over the counter, grabbing the end of the noose and yanking him closer with it, until their noses were inches apart.

                He choked.

                “Garrett Malcolm Hawke. Take out your god damn phone, and put in the god damn number.” Her face was uncharacteristically fierce. She released the candy and sat down again.

                He loosened the rope, rubbing his throat and grumbling with resentment. “Andraste’s tits, fine. What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

                “I don’t wear panties,” she said off-handedly. “And some prick is pestering me about…some stuff. It’s pissing me off.”

                “Some prick?”

                “A guy I used to know. Castillon.”

                “What’s he bothering you about?”

                She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re just trying to change the subject, aren’t you?”

                He heaved an enormous sigh. “You’re right.” He felt his pulse quicken as he worked his phone out of the pocket of his leather jacket. Garrett pulled up his contacts and found Fenris, where he’d entered him as soon as he got the number. He already had a contact photo, taken from an internet serach. Fenris was staring at him through the screen, measuring him, judging him. He shivered.

                Isabela rolled her eyes. “Oh for the Maker’s sake, quit being so melodramatic and do it already.”

                “Right. Yeah.” He took a deep breath and pressed the call button. It started ringing.

                Shit. He had no idea what he was going to say.

                “Wait, what am I going to say?” he hissed at her.

                “Ask him to join the band, idiot!”

                “But I have to introduce myself! I can’t just say ‘Hey, I know the last time we met you flipped a bitch, but—‘”

                “Hello?” A rich, deep voice sounded from the other end of the line. “Who’s this?”

                Garrett squeaked.

                Despite herself, Isabela was laughing.

                “Um, hi,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. “We met not too long ago, at the Hanged Man. My name’s Garrett. Garrett Hawke. I asked you to…to join my band.” Maker, he was out of breath.

                There was a pause. “How did you get this number?”

                “Well, I…I have a sister, you see. And the other day she was with my friend Anders, she’s sleeping with him. They’re disgusting, I honestly don’t know what they see in each other, it all just happened so suddenly and--”

                “If this is a prank, I don’t have time for this.”

                “Wait!” He started pacing, hand on his heart. “You’ve met her. Her name is Marian. She looks like me, only shorter and less…facial hair.” He stopped pacing and closed his eyes. “She’s a kickboxer.”

                There was another pause. “Yes, I remember. A lovely woman. You’re related?”

                “Unfortunately,” he grumbled. Garrett coughed. “I mean, yeah, she’s great.” It almost hurt to say that.

                “Why are you calling me, Hawke?” He sounded exasperated.

                Garrett tried to ignore the shiver that ran down his back when Fenris said his name like that. “Um. I was hoping you would reconsider. About the band.”

                “What makes you think anything has changed? I still have no reason to say yes.”

                His mind drew a blank. “Uhh…” His phone started vibrating. Shit. He pulled it away from his face, only to see that Anders was calling him. “Ugh, not now Anders.” He hit ignore and held it back up to his ear.

                “Well? I’m waiting.” Fenris sounded on the verge of hanging up.

                “Look, just one practice! Come to one practice,” he said quickly. “Please. I’ll make it up to you, I swear on everything holy.”

                A playful edge entered his voice. “Is that so? And how do you intend to do that?”

                “Um.” Shit. Why was his voice so fucking hot? He couldn’t think. “I…Whatever you want. I’m rich, I can probably arrange something.”

                Another pause, longer than the other two combined.

                Garrett didn’t dare to breath.

                “Very well. One practice. And I expect compensation.”

                He flopped against the counter, all the strength leaving his legs. “You’re a god. Thank you so much, you won’t regret this. I’ll text you the details of practice.”

                There was an amused snort. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

                “Yeah. Okay, yeah. Bye.” He hung up the phone and turned to Isabela, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide with excitement.

                She gave him a big grin and two thumbs up. “See? Aren’t you glad I forced you to call him?”

                He danced around, punching the air victoriously. “Fuck yeah I am!” He paused, feeling sudden dread. “Oh fuck. What if he hates us? What if he doesn’t come back? Isabela, we need him if we’re going to advance in the Battle of the Bands. I want to own that Arishok guy.”

                His phone started buzzing again. Anders. He clicked ignore.

                Isabela chuckled. “Oh, Gary. You underestimate me. Once I’m through with him, he won’t be _able_ to leave.”

                He glowered at her. “Don’t you do that…that thing you do, Isabela. He’s mine.”

                She raised her eyebrows, wiggling them a few times. “Territorial, are we?”

                “Yes, we are. Besides, I was getting a gay vibe.” Garrett folded his arms across his chest.

                Isabela shook her head. “No, you’re wrong. Definitely bi. I can see that honeyed tongue of his slipping between a woman’s legs and ravishing her, making her squirm…” She drifted off, staring wistfully into the distance, a small smile on her lips.

                He grabbed a movie off one of the shelves and chucked it at her. “Quit it.”

                She pouted at him. “Come on, Gary, let me have my fun.”

                “You can have your fun with someone else--” His phone started buzzing again. “God _dammit_ Anders, what do you want?” he growled to himself. He unlocked the phone and held it up to his ear. “What?” he snapped.

                “Why haven’t you been picking up?” Anders asked, sounding wounded.

                “I was busy. I’ll tell you later. What do you want?”

                His voice took on a harder edge. “You need to come to the Circle offices right away. It’s important.”

                “What? Why?”

                “It’s too much to explain over the phone, you’ll understand when you get here. I’ve already called Merrill, Varric is on his way. Can you get Isabela?”

                He glanced over at Isabela, who was still daydreaming, her eyes far away. He sighed. “Yeah, I got her.”

                “Good. Be here as soon as you can.” The line went dead.

                Garrett swiped his keys off the counter, snapping Isabela out of her reverie. “Grab your shit and let’s go.”

                “But my shift isn’t over until—fuck it, who cares. What’s going on?”

                “I…honestly, I don’t know. We’ll figure it out, I guess.”

 

                By the time they arrived, Varric and Merrill were there, seated quietly in the worn chairs outside Orsino’s office.

                Anders, on the other hand, was clearly too agitated to be sitting. He paced the room, his hands gesticulating wildly as he ranted. “…was going to happen, I _told_ you!”

                Varric put his hands up defensively. “Now listen, Blondie, there was no way to--”

                “Yes, there was, Varric,” he snapped. “You know how Meredith is. She’s had her eye on the Qun for months now, she has Elthina’s support, with her help she’ll be unstoppable--”

                “Anders, calm down,” Garrett ordered.

                He rounded on him, mouth open in a snarl, when the door to Orsino’s office opened.

                The man himself was in the doorway, looking very, very tired. He rubbed his forehead and stood to the side, gesturing for the band to come in, which they did.

                His office was small, but very tidy, as though he spent most of his time cleaning it instead of working. The walls were a dark sea foam color, made of a material similar to carpet, and had various pictures of nature adorning their faces. His desk was old and worn, and had nothing on it but a bottle of liquor, a picture of his granddaughter, an old computer, and a tiny potted cactus. He’d named it Alain.

                “I gather you’ve heard the news, then,” Orsino said, slumping into the chair behind his desk.

                Merrill, Varric, and Isabela opted to sit, but Anders was too restless, and Garrett hadn’t used one of those chairs since he broke one of them with his weight.

                “Actually, no,” Garrett said, shooting Anders a look. “ _Someone_ didn’t bother explaining. At least, not to me.”

                Orsino reached over to the bottle of brandy on his desk, taking the top out and pouring himself a glass. “The Templar Order bought us out,” he said, his voice heavy.

                “Excuse me?” Merrill paled.

                “Meredith has been wanting the Circle for years,” he explained. “I’ve managed to keep her at bay, but now that Elthina is helping her, she has near limitless funds. And we…don’t. It was either sign on with her, or watch this label perish.”

                Anders was grinding his teeth, glaring at the desk. “You should have let it go under. Anything’s better than working for _Meredith_.”

                “I understand your frustration, Anders, but that’s just not practical. I need to make a living. Besides, I negotiated the contract as fairly as I could. There’s only so much she can do to us. It won’t be so bad,” he said, shrugging.

                “Famous last words,” Garrett muttered.

                There was a beat of silence, in which the band members turned to Varric. He always knew what to do when things went to shit.

                He dragged a hand down his face. “Well. We go forward.”

                “That’s it?” Anders asked, incredulous. “That’s all you have to say?”

                “Look on the bright side, Blondie. At least we’ll be making more money,” he said, in that falsely optimistic voice he had.

                Anders shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. He pushed past Garrett, out of the room.

                They heard the bell at the front door ring as he left.

                “Why is he so upset?” Isabela asked, looking over her shoulder to watch him go. “I, for one, am perfectly alright with getting more money.”

                Varric sighed. “The Templar Order is known for its...involvement in a band’s affairs. Everything goes through them. Lyrics, song titles, venues, even album art. If they don’t like it, they don’t allow it. Some bands have had literally every aspect of the creative process stripped from them. They’re like…robots, performing whatever the Templars want them to. It’s a little creepy.”

                “So? Why does he care?” she asked, examining her nails.

                “Blondie cares a lot about our music. He writes it. Practically pours his soul into it. It’s an outrage to him that a label would have so much control over its clients.”

                Garrett shifted from foot to foot. “I can’t say I disagree. Are they going to change our sound? We have a pretty niche fan base.”

                Varric shrugged. “It’s hard to say, but I wouldn’t be too hopeful. Meredith does enjoy her conformity.”

                Merrill was still looking anxious, her fingers working at the end of her scarf. “Is this effective immediately?”

                Orsino shook his head. “There’s still a lot of paperwork to go through: finances, contracts, that sort of thing. Your contract with me didn’t need to be renewed until October. I’d say you have a couple months before the Templar Order officially owns you.”

                “Oh.” Garrett sounded relieved. “Then we’ll have time before the Battle of the Bands.”

                Varric turned around in his chair to look at him. “You really think we’re good enough for that? Against the Qun? The Arishok hasn’t lost a solo battle in his entire career.”

                A slow grin spread across his face. “In all this excitement I nearly forgot, Varric.”

                Varric’s lips twitched. “Oh yeah? Forgot what, exactly?”

                “I may or may not have convinced a certain artist, formerly known as Wolfsbane, to join our band.” He folded his arms across his chest, looking very smug.

                He paused for a moment, before chuckling and shaking his head. “I have to admit, Hawke, I’m shocked. How much money did you offer him?”

                Garrett looked offended, before remembering he actually had offered Fenris money. “I…don’t know, actually. I just said I would give him something.”

                Merrill giggled. “Oh, you’ll give him something, alright.”

                Everyone, including Orsino, turned to her with slack jaws.

                “ _Merrill,”_ exclaimed Isabela. “Did I just hear you say something dirty?”

                She blushed. “Well I have been practicing a bit.”

                Varric leaned back in his chair and let out a slow whistle. “Today couldn’t get any weirder. Meredith buying our souls, the great Wolfsbane joining our band, and Daisy saying something that could be construed as sexual. Next you’ll be telling me that a giant hole will open up in the sky and try to kill us all.”

                Garrett snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Varric. Anyway, he said he’s willing to come to this week’s practice.”

                Varric stood. “Great. Just tell him not to be late.” He reached his arms over his head and stretched, letting out an appreciative grunt when his back popped. “We should probably head out. I’m sure Orsino has things he needs to do. Like get the bottom of that bottle,” he muttered under his breath, glancing at the brandy bottle on the desk.

                “I heard that,” Orsino growled, glaring.

                Varric shrugged. “You’re not my boss anymore. Anyway, I have to go. I want to wash Bianca before I meet with my parole officer.”

                Isabela gave him a sympathetic look. “Do you need me there for morale support?”

                “I appreciate the sentiment, Rivaini, but I’m more than capable of dealing with her. All I have to do is mention Hawke and she goes all doe-eyed.”

                Garrett swelled with pride, suddenly three inches taller. “Tell her I said hi. And that she’s looking particularly lovely today.”

                “But you haven’t seen her today,” said Merrill, her eyebrows pulling together with confusion.

                He shrugged, unfazed. “I doubt she’ll care.”

                “She’ll probably punch me if I deliver that message,” Varric grumbled. “And she’ll punch me if I’m late. So without further ado, I bid you adieu.” He made a small bow and took his leave.

                Garrett chuckled a little to himself. “Heh. That kinda rhymed.”

                Isabela rolled her eyes. “I’m leaving. My liquor is waiting for me.”

                He shrugged. “Whatever. I’m gonna text Fenris. He’s probably waiting by his phone to hear from me.”

                She gave him a pat on the shoulder as she passed. “I’m sure he is,” she said, almost tiredly. “Goodbye, everyone. See you on Saturday.” She blew them a kiss over her shoulder as she walked out.

                Garrett nodded to Orsino. “Best of luck with your paperwork. It’s a shame about Meredith.”

                “Worse things have happened,” he said, and sighed. “We’ll make it. Somehow.”

                He turned to Merrill. “What are you up to right now?”

                “I was going to go back to my shop and work on the mirror, but if you want to do something then I can be available!” She stood, smoothing the front of her dress.

                Merrill ran an antiques shop. She’d found an old, broken mirror in her grandmother’s house nearly a year ago, and had been trying, with little success, to mend it. Too many tiny pieces.

                He linked his arm with hers and led her out the door. “Why don’t you help me compose my texts to Fenris? I need to come off as casual, but not so casual that he thinks I’m not interested.”

                “I’m not entirely sure why you came to me with this problem, but I’ll see what I can do…”

                They walked down the street together, arm in arm, debating the punctuation and syntax of a text that ended up being under fifteen words.

 

                Marian was sitting on the counter in the kitchen, looking insufferably smug. Even with tousled hair and wrinkled pajamas, she still managed to look superior. She just smiled at Garrett and munched on her Raisin Bran. And munched. And munched.

                Garrett couldn’t take it anymore. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice acidic. He tore off a bite of his bacon (from his secret stash) with unnecessary aggression.

                “How’s Fenris?” Her voice was even smugger than her smile.

                He made a disgusted noise in his throat, looking away despite himself. “How should I know? I’ve hardly been talking to him.”

                “Mm, that’s not how I hear it.”

                “Well okay, maybe I have been—Now hey, wait just—UGH.”

                “You doing okay, Shorty?” She raised an eyebrow.

                “How the fuck do you know so much about me?” he demanded, jabbing a greasy finger in her direction. “How do you know I’ve been talking to him? Do you go through my phone? Are you a fuck damn sidekick?”

                She laughed. “Do you mean ‘psychic?’”

                “Fuck—fucking—God I hate you so much I fucking hate--”

                A loud yawn interrupted their exchange. Anders stepped into the kitchen, his hair an utter mess, shirt missing, wearing nothing but cat boxers and mismatched socks. He scratched absentmindedly at one of the scars from his top surgery and walked past a dumbfounded Garrett to the fridge.

                Garrett spluttered, the look on Marian’s face only confounding him even further.

                Anders pulled out a carton of orange juice and poured himself a glass, taking a long drink before setting the half empty glass on the counter. He nodded at Garrett. “Hey.”

                “I—I’m--”

                “I think we broke him,” Marian said, drinking the last of the milk from her cereal.

                Anders rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You’d think he’d be used to it by now.”

                She shrugged. “Never underestimate Garrett’s potential for unnecessary drama. He thrives on it.”

                Garrett glared at her, having finally recovered his capability of speech. “I don’t _thrive_ on it. Drama thrives on _me_.”

                “Weird things do have a way of finding you,” Anders agreed, taking another sip of orange juice. “Remember when you had to search for that rich guy’s kid in a strip club? And all he wanted to do was get laid?”

                “Poor guy,” Garrett muttered. “I don’t think there were any blind women there.”

                Anders gave him a wry smile. “If I’m remembering correctly, he actually found someone. She was a bit of a beauty. With eyes intact.”

                “Huh.” He chewed his bacon thoughtfully for a moment.

                Marian hopped down from the counter and put her bowl in the sink. “All this reminiscing is great, but you never answered my question, Gare Bear.”

                He huffed. “What? What do you want to know?” His shoulders slumped with defeat.

                “What have you guys been talking about?” She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the sink, watching him intently with piercing blue eyes.

                “Nothing,” he grumbled. “I just told him when practice was.”

                “And…?”

                “And I asked him how his day was! So what? Why is that a big deal?” His plate of bacon lay forgotten on the counter.

                “Are you sure that’s all you talked to him about?”

                “Yes!” he snapped. “I’m sure!”

                “Are you sure you’re sure?” Her face split into a wicked grin.

                Garrett paused, suddenly not sure. “I…Yes?”

                Marian shrugged, turning towards the sink to start washing her bowl. “My bad, then.”

                “Wait…now…okay, wait.” A knot of dread formed in his stomach. “What are you planning? What happened? What’s going on?” His voice took on a manic edge. He looked at Anders, who could only shrug helplessly.

                “I have no idea what she’s talking about,” he said honestly. “I don’t even know who ‘he’ is.”

                Oh, right. No one had told Anders that Fenris was coming to practice. Oops. Someone would have to tell him soon, or he would throw a hissy fit in front of the man himself: a situation Garrett couldn’t afford.

                Marian poured soap in her bowl and started scrubbing. “Ask yourself this, Garrett,” she said, breaking him from his thoughts. “What could I possibly do?”

                He snatched his phone off the counter and unlocked it, typing in his top secret password (the numbers spelled out ‘dick’), and opening his conversation with Fenris. At first, he was perplexed. His confusion quickly turned to horror. “ _You’ve been texting him_ for _me?_ ” he practically screeched.

                She had mostly made idle chitchat, throwing in the occasional winky face and suggestive comment. It was all very smooth, actually. If he wasn’t so infuriated he would have been impressed with her skill.

                Anders’s eyebrows shot up. “Low blow, babe.”

                She pouted at him. “You think so?”

                Garrett kept reading. He let out a wordless scream of rage. “He’s _coming over?_ ”

                Marian glanced at the clock. “In about twenty minutes. You should probably get dressed.” She turned to face him, toweling off her bowl.

                He stared at her for a moment, caught between the urge to strangle her and the desperate need to make himself presentable. Eventually the latter won out, and he fled down the hall to his room, oversized t-shirt flapping behind him.

                Anders laughed a little despite himself. “That was pretty mean.”

                She sighed. “I know. I’m a terrible sister.” She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards her bedroom. “Let’s leave to him to his date. I want to finish Project Runway, anyway.”

                His pity for Garrett was instantly forgotten, as was his curiosity about who in the Maker’s name they were talking about. “Ooh, I wonder if Dorian made the cut!”

                They were so engrossed in their show that they didn’t even hear when the bell rang. Ten minutes early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's it!! :^) I hope you enjoyed! comments and kudos are super duper appreciated as always <3
> 
> s/o to [this guy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sniper_wolf/pseuds/sniper_wolf) for being my beta, go check out his stuff ((especially the Haikyuu Hunger Games fic, it's p dope))
> 
> have a lovely day!!!


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